


Invisible Slaves

by EnzCat



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Anya Lives, Because the 100 canon is a flaming sack of cattle shit, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, HG-typical violence, Lexa Lives, Lincoln Lives, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnzCat/pseuds/EnzCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Although they’ve never met, Lexa finds herself feeling slightly lost at the thought of the world losing this girl to the games.  Lexa can see by her eyes and the firm set of her mouth that the girl is a survivor, but she has no real chance of making it out of this.  The girl, Clarke Griffin, is from District 6 – an industrial district filled with car-parts and morphling addicts.  Tributes from this district have next to no transferable skills to help them survive in the arena.<br/>They haven’t had a winner in last thirty years."</p><p>Or,</p><p>The Hunger Games x The 100 crossover that no one asked for, but I forced on you anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lexa

**Author's Note:**

> I had no one read this for me, so I feel like it needs a warning, like, “Here Be Typos.” Also, I didn’t reread the books before writing this, so I’m relying on my memory and the wiki pages. If I make any mistakes regarding HG canon, then please forgive me - I am a mere mortal. Three or four years ago, I read a well-done Teen Wolf x HG fic by Lessandra and I thought of it when I re-watched the first HG movie, so it kind of inspired me to combine HG with The 100 (I think they’d work well together), but I didn’t go back to read it so, hopefully, I’m not too influenced by what she did (I tried not to be). 
> 
> I’m going to try and weave the 100 characters into HG canon as best as I can without tweaking it too much… somethings will have to be tweaked though, such as the number of surviving tributes in the end, because The 100 canon is a flaming pile of cattle dung and Lexa, Clarke, and Anya deserve a happy ending; all three of them live – Lincoln too (though I haven’t decided on his place in this yet). They all deserve better. 
> 
> The POV for each chapter will likely flip back and forth between Lexa and Clarke, with each getting a full chapter.

She was 12 years old when they pulled Costia’s name from the bowl. It shouldn’t have been possible. It was their first year in the running and Lexa had refused to let the other girl sign-up for tesserae – instead taking her share and putting-in some extra time helping Gustus retrieve bird’s eggs from the trees selected for clearing. The shock of the name echoing across the courtyard kept her immobile for several moments before the jerky movement of a tanned figure in her periphery had her scrambling and shouting her willingness to enter the tournament to the Capitol cameras stationed above the square. Lexa can still remember the numbness that settled over her as she weaved her way through a sea of grim faces to reach the front. They parted for her easily – each careful not to touch her as if she suddenly were no longer the small orphaned girl that had followed them into the woods each day for the last decade.

The air was warm despite the gloom cast by the thick blanket of clouds above them. She could weakly hear Costia’s wailing over the loud thrumming of the pulse in her ears as she ascended the stone steps to stand beside the almost alien-like man sent from the Capitol to be District 7’s escort. The deep blue of Aberforth’s dyed skin clashed terribly with the startling neon green of his suit. He reminded Lexa a little of the ragged clown doll Costia kept on her bedside table. Lexa always hated that doll – it’s eyes seemed to follow her wherever she moved about the room. As she took her final step up onto the stage, Aberforth seized her shoulder in a tight grip before enthusiastically showing her off to the cameras and, for a moment, Lexa thought that perhaps that doll had been the universe’s way of trying to warn her of what was to come in her future.

It didn’t make her feel any better.

It wasn’t until later on - when the train had left the station and the sun had sunk back down on the horizon - that she would come to terms with the likelihood of her fate in the coming days. Death was not the end. Lexa was content with the fact that Costia would live and be spared from the horror of the event.

It’s a shame that it never really mattered in the end.

During the 66th year since it’s conception, Lexa Woods beat Finnick Odair for the title of the youngest victor in the history of The Hunger Games and Costia died anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Six years to the day, Lexa finds herself back on the same stage for another reaping, sandwiched between Anya and Blight as Aberforth selects two new children for slaughter. He’s as clown-like as ever in a newly-tailored silver suit; it shimmers in the light as he reaches into the bowl and selects a folded piece of paper.

“This is it, folks! This one’s going to be a winner! Artigas Acker!” Aberforth exclaims cheerfully to the somber crowd. He cranes his head, searching, until his eyes land on the scrawny older boy stiffly emerging from the dense swarm, “There he is! Artigas Acker, everybody – stepping up to the plate!”

Aberforth rushes forward to grab Artigas’ hand, practically hulling him up onto the stage. The boy stumbles and his face burns as a few tears start to fall – the first of many, Lexa’s sure. Her jaw jerks before she can stop it - it’s an angry tick that she’s been trying hard to break. Anya pointed it out to her during her training years ago, but she hasn’t been able to stop herself from doing it whenever something upsets her. Her old mentor shuffles beside her, but Lexa resolutely ignores her - Lexa will be fine.  She’s always fine.  She doesn’t have time luxury to be anything but fine.  It’s her responsibility to do what she can to keep these tributes alive. The living are hungry, after all.

“And now for the girls!” Aberforth’s hand dives back into the mound of slips, “Let’s see – Tris Willis!”

The girl, Tris, seems just as unassuming as Artigas - if not more so – and she’s younger, much younger. Lexa hates it when they’re selected so young. At least the older children have more of a fighting chance – she was the exception to the rule. It had worked in her favour at the time, but she can’t imagine it ever turning out quite so well again. Tris shuffles timidly towards them until she’s within reach of Aberforth’s grabby fingers. He pulls her in like he did Artigas.

“There we have it, my friends! District 7’s tributes for the 72nd Annual Hunger Games!”

Lexa watches the children appraisingly. They’re not that much younger than herself, except softer and more innocent. The arena and her time as a mentor has aged her much more than she’d ever care to admit. Lexa steels herself as Aberforth directs the children’s fearful gazes towards the victors that will be guiding them this year. Their eyes sweep over them to linger on Johanna at the end and Lexa knows it’s because they’re thinking of the girl’s victory the year previously. Though their personalities mix about as well as oil and water, Lexa’s extremely glad to have Johanna standing there with them – she’s the only District 7 tribute to survive during all Lexa’s years spent as a mentor. She only hopes that Johanna doesn’t keep that title.

The tributes are then shepherded away for processing and the crowd’s attention is diverted to a large screen suspended from the branches of two oak trees to the west of the courtyard. Aberforth hovers around the technician making snide, impatient comments as the woman attempts to get the projector running. They used to have an actual television a few years back, but the building it was stored in was destroyed when the foresters lost control of one of their prescribed burns. The ensuing wildfire ended up devouring the warehouse, two houses, and about a week’s worth of harvested lumber before they were able to put it out. The head peacekeeper, Nia, had been furious and ordered the entire crew in-charge of the burn flogged. The television was never replaced.

“I think it bruises his fragile ego that he can’t even get them to grant us a working projector,” Anya mutters lowly to Lexa’s left. The woman crosses her arms impatiently, eyes narrowing at the scene unfolding before them, “The people of the Capitol want for nothing. Their children do not grow-up.”

“Anya,” Lexa whispers harshly, wary of the many sets of ears around them, “mind your tongue.”

Her ex-mentor merely snorts.

There’s a crackle of static in the speakers as the system turns on and a live feed from District 8 appears on the screen. They watch the reapings for districts 8 to 12 before cycling back to the recordings for districts 1 through 6. The volunteers from the career districts are as strong and imposing as ever compared to the other tributes from the poorer areas. Lexa has to remind herself not to let her mind wander when they finally reach the last district - it’s her duty to take stock of the competition.

The male tribute is a shaggy-haired youth named Finn, who makes his way – face white and shaking - towards the front. He does a much better job holding himself together compared to most of the tributes that Lexa has had to watch today, but it’s the female tribute that truly catches her attention. A quiet but collective sound of grief issues from the crowd in District 6 when her name is called. Due to the reaction, Lexa half expects someone to volunteer in her stead, but no one else moves as a single figure starts to make her way forward. Despite her obvious shock, the girl holds her head held high and her shoulders square. She seems to be around Lexa’s own age and Lexa can’t help but admire the bravery that the girl has as she resignedly marches up to the podium.

She’s startlingly beautiful.

Although they’ve never met, Lexa finds herself feeling slightly lost at the thought of the world losing this girl to the games. Lexa can see by her eyes and the firm set of her mouth that the girl is a survivor, but she has no real chance of making it out of this. The girl, Clarke Griffin, is from District 6 – an industrial district filled with car-parts and morphling addicts. Tributes from this district have next to no transferable skills to help them survive in the arena. They haven’t had a winner in last thirty years. The afternoon sun catches Clarke’s hair, making the blonde strands shine bright gold as she’s ushered into the courthouse.

Lexa feels weary and sad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from my favourite Shins song, “No Way Down,” because James Mercer is a such brilliant lyricist that I can feel this song marrow-deep in my bones. It speaks of liberal guilt and economic imbalance in a way that I think fits with the tone in Panam fairly well.
> 
> “Dig yourself a beautiful grave  
>  Everything you could want  
>  Maybe those invisible slaves  
>  Are too far away for a ghost to haunt”
> 
> Also, please let me know in the comments if you like this and want me to keep going. I'm pretty busy with university and I have ADD, so I'll need the reminder/inspiration. I'll do my best though! This is the best fandom that I've ever been in, so I think the chances are pretty good that I'll finish it. Feel free to come say hi on my tumblr (enzcat.tumblr.com), but be warned that it might take me a day or two to get back to you.


	2. Clarke

Her mother is already in the clinic when she wakes up. Clarke can hear the distant murmur of voices downstairs and the thumping of work boots on wooden floors. It wasn’t really much of a surprise that Abby was up so early today – someone almost always has a panic attack or a stress-related complication on reaping day. It’s either that or someone has overdosed on morphling; however, the voices don’t sound urgent today, so Clarke guesses that it’s safe to assume that is not the case. 

She slips out of bed and over to her dresser where her mother has already laid out her best outfit – a light blue sundress with a thin leather belt. It used to belong to her mother. One night several years ago, when the smog had cleared just enough to allow them a rare, brief glimpse of the stars, her father had gestured towards it and told her that he had bought it because it had reminded him of the sky – something that they didn’t get to see nearly enough of. Clarke thought it was an apt metaphor for their freedom and she has worn it for every reaping thereafter. 

“Clarke! Are you not up yet?”

“I am!” She shouts back at her mother, startled back to reality, “I’m getting dressed!”

“Well, hurry up! Thelonious will be here soon!”

Clarke huffs before changing out of her sleep clothes and donning the dress. She tackles the rat’s nest that is her long blonde hair as quickly as possible before making for the door to await the mayor’s arrival. As District 6’s principal healer, Abby Griffin had secured a place for her family in the wealthier sectors and they had always gotten along with Mayor Jaha and his son, Wells. It was a long-standing tradition between the two families that they would meet before the reapings each year and walk over to the courthouse together. Clarke felt selfishly grateful that her birthday was next month and she wondered if the ritual would continue once she and Wells were no longer eligible for the games next year. 

Her father is waiting for her at the bottom of the steps when she gets there. Jake flashes her a deceptively cheerful smile before wrapping her in a hug that’s just a little too tight. He does this every year – waits patiently by the stairs, stewing in his worry. Clarke’s practically given-up trying to reassure him that she wouldn’t be selected for the games. District 6 has the largest population in all of the twelve districts and the Griffins are wealthy enough that she’s never needed to submit her name more than required in order to receive tesserae. With the obvious exception of the Capitol, the odds were more in her favour than they were for anyone else in Panam.

“I’m going to be fine,” She whispers into his shoulder, “They’re not going to pick me.”

“I know, Kiddo - I just love you is all,” They stay like that for another few moments before separating. Jake distractedly scratches the side of his nose before flicking a finger in the direction of the clinic, “We should go meet you mother. I think I heard her speaking to Jaha as she saw her patient out.”

Clarke nods and follows him towards the clinic door, ducking through the strips of opaque plastic covering the entrance. She takes note of the sharp scent of antiseptic as they leave their living area and enter Abby’s work space. Normally, Clarke wouldn’t have noticed – so used to the smell as she was – but the cleaner is obviously freshly used. Her mother is much better at handling her emotions than Jake is, but it’s the little things that let Clarke know how she’s feeling. It’s not even 9 AM (there’s been, what, one patient here since the clinic was stripped yesterday?) and Abby’s already been cleaning. 

“There you are!” Abby drops the cloth that she had been using to whip the countertops of the treatment area. She sweeps over to Clarke and takes a gentle hold of her daughter’s upper arms. Her thumbs move, stroking back and forth as if her nerves demand that some part of her needs to keep moving, “We’re ready to head over now, if you are?”

“Yeah,” Clarke replies, offering her mother a small smile that is weakly returned. They’re had their differences – their share of booming arguments that have devolved into hash, hissed reprimands about what should and should not be said about the government both inside and outside their home. Clarke resents her mother’s words a lot of the time, but she’s never worried about them coming from anywhere except a place of absolute love.

“You look as lovely as ever, Clarke.”

She looks over her mother’s shoulder at the voice to spy Thelonious seated calmly in a chair by the door. Wells stands beside him, fiddling with the worn strap of his watch. He offers her a brief wave while she thanks his father for the complement. Thelonious nods back to her and stands to make his way out the door. The rest of them follow his lead and step out into the street.

The air outside is thick with the heavy smell of motor oil. A car – likely a peacekeeper jeep - backfires around the corner by the entrance to one of the many factories in their district. Hovercraft, high-speed trains, automobiles, and cargo trains – they make the engines that keep the Capitol mobile and moving like a slick-oiled machine. She once heard a visiting dignitary laughing with his colleague about how ironic it was that the people of her district makes the instruments of travel, but holds no love for it themselves. He made it seem like it was some grand, good-natured joke and maybe it was to him, but it was not to Clarke. Travel was forbidden between the people of the districts and the restrictions were only lifted for certain members of District 6 so that these people could become conductors, baggage handlers, and stewards of the Capitol citizen’s train cars – unauthorized to leave the vehicles that had toted them there. The travel restrictions were lifted so that they could be poorly-treated slaves of a corrupt society. It was an ‘honour’ that Clarke didn’t blame her people at all for not wanting.

She falls into step with Wells as they follow their parents closely through the increasingly busy streets. There’s not much opportunity to talk to him and neither of them are particularly in the mood to chat anyway. Though the odds are low that one of them will be selected, two children from their district will still be chosen to die today. It’s simply unrealistic to spin it any other way. District 6 almost never wins and has only two living victors to its name. Said victors are the first thing Clarke notices as they enter the square; their jittery forms draw her eye like a moth to flame. She’s met them a few times, usually after one of them has had an overdose of morphling and Abby has tasked her with keeping an eye on them in the clinic while they’re recovering. They liked to watch her paint so much that she made a point to bring her easel downstairs with her whenever she knew they were there. Theo and Mod – she’s rather fond of them. She’s wretched to think that the games have broken them so thoroughly. 

“We’ll be waiting for you two over by the baker’s when this is over,” Jake says quietly before pulling both of them into a hurried hug that’s quickly replicated by the other two adults, “I ordered a cake for tonight to give us something to look forward to.”

They disappeared into the crowd after that and Clarke steers Wells towards the check-in lines. It grew noisier the closer they drew to the other children. The constant muttering of voices blended into a buzz that grated on Clarke’s already fragile nerves. She had zero desire to talk to anyone until after this was over. Wells momentarily places a soothing hand on her shoulder before securing them a place in the line-up. He says nothing to which Clarke is grateful – six years of reapings has taught her watchful friend how to read her well. She’s feels a rush of affection for him flood her. They’ve been together for so long that he’s become the brother that she never had. Clarke reaches out to give his hand a quick squeeze once they reach the sign-in desk. 

The peacekeeper at the desk roughly takes her hand for a blood-draw before placing her clipped fingertip to the paper in front of him. He waves her along once he’s certain that the bloodied print is readable and she moves to join the mass of children in the center of the square. The girls are ushered to the left, while the boys are directed to the right. Clarke secures herself a spot somewhat close to the inner isle running down the center of the assembly. It’s not a long wait until the other children are processed and Maya Vie, District 6’s escort, steps up to the podium. 

Silence falls.

“Good morning, District 6,” Maya says into the mic after a moment. She’s not like the other escorts that they’ve had in the past – she’s younger, not as flamboyant, and as seems somewhat more down to earth than her predecessors. Maya doesn’t outwardly say that she views them as real people instead of pawns whose main purpose is do provide a good show, but the slight softness to her smile seems to speak volumes. Not for the first time in the two years that the woman has held the position, Clarke wonders how the girl has kept her job, “It’s hard to believe that another year has passed, but here we are!”

The girl chatters a little more about the glory of the Capitol and the purpose of the games and Clarke has to work hard not to roll her eyes. Yes, Maya seems to see them as actual human beings and felt for them as such, but that did not mean that she hadn’t been conditions to view their sacrifice as a necessary evil for the greater good. Clarke holds her breath as Maya wanders over to the bowl containing the slips for the male tribute.

“Finn Collins!” She lets out her breath – not Wells. A boy around her age starts towards the front and a voice moans with anguish somewhere to her right. Clarke leans back a little with morbid curiosity to catch a glimpse of dark-haired girl with a knee-brace sobbing loudly. Her eyebrows knit together in sympathy and she returns her eyes to the stage, where the boy, Finn, has taken up residence beside Maya. She shakes his hand and takes a moment to stand with him so that the cameras can focus on him before abandoning him in favor of the jar containing the female candidates. 

“Okay, it’s the ladies turn now,” Clarke prepares to draw a calming breath as Maya reaches in to finger a couple pieces of paper. She thinks of the cake her father bought and how long it's been since they’ve splurged on something as decadent as sweets, “District 6’s final tribute is – Clarke Griffin!”

She chokes on a lungful of air.

Did she really hear that right? Discontented murmuring erupts around her and the numerous faces turning to look at her tells her that – yes – she did hear that right. Clarke bites her lip and allows herself one more moment to gather her wits before moving. If she’s going to have to do this, then it won’t due to allow herself to breakdown here – not with the new target painted on her back.

She squares her shoulders and marches towards Maya and Finn with as much confidence as she can muster. It’s all she can do to keep the tremors from her limbs, but she manages it with no small degree of effort. Clarke feels like she’s wading through a dream. People part to allow her to pass through the short distance to the aisle. A few of them offer words comfort as they do and she appreciates it, but she wishes they wouldn’t. She knows that they mean well and she recognizes a lot of them as patients from her mother’s clinic. She’s suddenly overrun with the desire to turn-tail and run home – to her parents, the Jahas, and their cake. She hopes they still eat it. They deserve something good for making it through today.

“Hello, Clarke,” Maya says gently and just to her as she reaches the landing of the stage. Maya leads Clarke over to stand beside Finn before turning to address the crowd, “We have our tributes! Anyone who wishes to speak to them before they board the train this evening can talk to the peacekeepers at the sign-in stations. They will instruct you on where to go. Thank you, tributes! May the odds ever be in your favour!”

Clarke spares a quick glance at Theo and Mod as they’re escorted towards the towering courthouse doors. A bright ray of light breaks through the dense clouds above, blinding her slightly, but she still manages to catch a glimpse of their faces before the doors swing shut.

Clarke has seen them at their worst in the troughs of anguish and despair. She’s seen them shaking and thin, watching her paint with wide, sunken eyes. She’s held their hand as they cried and begged her for a substance she couldn’t give them. But as her eyes caught theirs before she disappears into the stone tomb that was the courthouse, Clarke doesn’t think that she’s ever seen them look quite that pale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wouldn't expect updates as quick as this... I had this chapter half typed out before I posted the story earlier and I've just been really procrastinating working on my histology. There's bound to be errors all over the place and I hope you guys can forgive me for them. I didn't really edit it that much.


	3. Lexa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I wrote this while I ate my lunch and now I'm running off to work. I'm actually enjoying writing this. Not enjoying editing it though (at least not right now), so I didn't. Beware: the typos bite. I'll go back and fix them later.

Artigas will not stop crying. Anya and the other victors have long since abandoned her, leaving her to deal with the distraught children on her own. Lexa had expected it from the two women, but she’s somewhat surprised that Blight has left the task up to her as well. The man is by far the most approachable of District 7’s victors and was usually the one to take the lead with such matters. Lexa restrains a frustrated sigh - it’s only the first night. She knows that the three will assist her when it counts.

They will owe her for this later.

“You can cry tonight - express what you need to, but must get out of your system as best you can,” Lexa tells them as gently as she dares without losing her firmness – coddling them now will not help them. She hates that she must tell them this, but they need to focus if they are to have any chance of surviving these games, “Tomorrow we will be in the Capitol and you need to be prepared to learn as quickly as possible.”

Artigas lets out a small dry sob in response. She was told during the briefing that the boy is 16-years-old and held a position with his father in the mill. From the moment his feet touched the plush green carpet of the train car, his distress seemed in increase ten-fold and Lexa worries about his ability to hold it together in the arena. Thirteen-year-old Tris is similarly upset, but she seems abler at reigning it in than the older boy. It was an unexpected role-reversal. Lexa makes a mental note not to pair Artigas up with Joanna during training as she wasn’t sure the other woman’s brash attitude would help the boy – at least not right away, anyway. Perhaps, her sharp manor may toughen him up a little in preparation for the arena; she would have to decide later after she’s been given opportunity to work with him. 

“Sleeping quarters have been arranged for both of you in the next car,” She says, gesturing to a closed door behind the children, “There’s a dinning area in the back of the train, but I can ask the kitchen staff to send food to your rooms tonight, if you’d prefer. I will be waking both of you early tomorrow to discuss the procedure leading up to the games before we reach the Capitol, so I would advise you to rest as much as you’re able.”

She sent them away after that – both of them shuffling morosely towards the door before disappearing through it. Lexa wanders over to the trolley by the window and flicks the switch on the cordless kettle. It’s not even a minute after they’ve left that she hears the soft click of a latch and feels a familiar presence behind her. She ignores them for a while, instead choosing to continue inspecting the flavours of bagged tea. It’s not until she’s selected one – lavender and chamomile – that she acknowledges their presence, speaking to them without turning around, “You left me to deal with them alone.”

“I knew you had it handled,” Anya answers, calmly reaching around Lexa to grab a mug of her own. She drops a random bag into the mug, twisting the string around the handle so that it doesn’t fall in, “I have a tendency to scare them during their first night. They’ll be better equipped to listen if they can sort themselves out tonight without that. I’ll have plenty of time to scare them later when it will actually do them some good.”

“You didn’t scare me.”

“You were a special case.”

They’re quiet for several minutes as they wait for the water to boil. When the steam starts to scream, Lexa quickly flicks the switch back off – the sound makes her uncomfortable. Images of pale, still bodies trapped in a web of dark vines well up, unbidden, from the depths of her subconscious and she hurries to distract herself. The past is done. It doesn’t due to dwell on things that can no longer be changed. Lexa pours the hot liquid into both of their cups and passes one to Anya – wrinkling her nose at the heavy scent of licorice wafting from it.

“I’m not hopeful of our chances this year,” Lexa whispers, almost quiet enough that Anya can’t hear her over the faint clacking of the train and hum of the wind as they move swiftly down the railway. Except for the two of them, the cabin is empty, but there’s a fragility to the air that prevents her from speaking in normal tones. Anyway, she doesn’t wish to be overheard, “Artigas is too sensitive to survive the arena and Tris is simply too young.”

“She’s older than you were.”

“Yes, but you’ve just finished telling me that I was special,” Lexa sips at her tea, wincing as it scalds her tongue, “Her composure gives her an edge on Artigas, but it will not help her against the tributes from the career districts.” 

“She doesn’t need to take them on directly.”

“I know that... No one knows that better than me – five of my eight kills in the games were done indirectly,” She counters, “That’s not what I’m saying.”

Anya eyes her silently for a few moments and Lexa can see her mind working – trying to pin down what it is exactly that’s bothering the younger woman. The longer she remains mute, the more Lexa’s skin starts to itch. She doesn’t like being inspected this closely. It’s a long minute before Anya sighs and says, “You are letting yourself get too close to this.”

Lexa bristles.

“I am not.”

“You are – you can’t save them all, Lexa.”

“I told you that I know that,” She growls back through clenched teeth.

“Then what is this really about?”

Anya looks at her expectantly and Lexa allows herself a sigh – the release of air takes her tension with it. She leans back against the back of an ornate couch, body suddenly feeling heavy. She takes another sip from the cup, reveling in the burn she feels as it makes its way down her esophagus, “Love is weakness – I realize that. I am not letting myself get overly attached, Anya. It just doesn’t escape me that this is such a waste.

Young children, older children, smart children, brave children…” Lexa says, disregarding the flash of blue eyes and blonde hair that jumps to the forefront of her mind, “They’re wasting the best of us – the innocents. I won’t let it interfere with my duty to _these_ children – our district’s children - but it’s wearing. Our society is diseased. I agree with what you said this morning at the reaping, but I must ask you to exert more caution. I don’t wish to lose you too, Anya.”

The mug makes a dull thud against the wood of the trolley’s surface as Anya sets it down in favour of placing a hand on the top of Lexa’s head. Her ex-mentor ruffles her hair lightly for a second before picking up her glass again and draining the remainder of its contents. Lexa watches her do this and is reminded that – although she has no blood relatives remaining - this woman is the only bit of family that she has left. 

“We do what we can, Lexa, and nothing more,” Anya says when she finally answers, “Don’t torture yourself with the uncertain.”

She leaves it at that and Lexa can't help but note that Anya promises her nothing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The morning’s discussion with the tributes went better than expected. The children were puffy-eyed and somber, but they were less hysterical and more inclined to process what they were being told then they were yesterday. The other victors had finally joined her to go over the schedule and basic strategy for the next few days.

Now, their train is pulling into the Capitol and Lexa again feelings the uncomfortable itch that comes from being watched. The station is packed with citizens scrambling to get their first glimpse of this year’s tributes and the victors. She finds their continued interest in their lives discomfiting, but she’s gotten used to it as well as she can. 

A flash of blonde catches her attention in the corner of her eye, but its owner has already been swallowed by the hungry mob when she turns to look. There’s another train, pulled-up closely behind their own so that its nose is almost touching the metal of the caboose. It’s the first time that they’ve ever arrived at the same moment as another district. Lexa’s so caught-up staring that she didn’t notice the other person moving towards her until they barrel into her. She stumbles a step, but maintains her balance, catching the other person by the arms before they fall into the pavement. 

Lexa’s shocked – it’s the blonde girl from District 6. 

The peacekeepers are there in an instant. Their hands grab at Clarke’s forearms and are hulling the girl away before either of them are even able to open their mouths to say anything. Lexa watches as the officers’ shout at the crowd to move-off and let them pass before they disappear again – this time into one of the many armoured jeeps waiting for them several meters away. 

Anya catches her looking and raises a curious eyebrow, which Lexa shrugs off. She motions for them to continue following their own parade of peacekeepers. As Anya turns around, Lexa chances another quick glance back at the jeep as it peels away from the curb before redirecting her attention towards her own party.

Clarke Griffin is just as pretty close-up.


	4. Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's getting a little ridiculous how much I'm enjoying this... I don't think that I've ever written a story this long before (I've written research papers longer than this, but those were not at all fun). I wrote this over lunch and supper today as a study-break. I have so much to do in the next few days that I - probably - won't update again until I get a handle on my assignments. Clarke's chapters have been longer than Lexa's because there's a bit more going on with her right now (I'm really looking forward to writing about her time in the arena), but it'll even-out down the line. This is the 72nd games and I'm planning on taking it all the way through the revolution to the end of the series (there will be a couple time jumps though). Also, I don't ship Raven x Finn, but it worked for the story to have them together before the games. As always, I hope you guys enjoy it.

There’s arguing outside the oak door of the holding room. Clarke isn’t completely sure how long she’s been kept in here; it feels like it’s been well over an hour, but it could have been just a few minutes – the shock is preventing her mind from co-operating as it should be. A heavy knock on the door is her only warning before it swings open and a deep voice informs her that they have three minutes.

She’s wrapped up in her father’s arms before she even sees him.

“Dad, I- “ 

“No, Clarke, listen,” Jake says, cutting her off. His voice sounds rough and Clarke’s unsure if it’s from shouting or crying. The thought cracks her steely exterior and makes her feel weak all of a sudden. Her mother’s hand is a warm weight on her back, but her face is pressed into the soft cotton of Jake’s shirt and she can’t see anything. She shivers and clings to him in a way that she hasn’t since she was much younger as he continues speaking, “You can do this. You’re smart, resourceful and you have your mother’s medical knowledge. Honey, I know you can work your way back to us.”

“We’ve never won the games as long as I’ve been alive.”

“Then, change that, Clarke.”

She bites her lip, but nods into his chest after a second. They stay like that rigidly for a few terse moments and Clarke draws a lot of her strength back from the warmth of her father’s arms. She shifts and steps back once she feels steady enough. 

Jake lets his daughter go and reaches down to release the buckle on his watch. He wipes at stray tear on her cheek that had escaped without her noticing and holds the timepiece out to her, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Here. I know they let you bring a token into the arena - keep that for me.”

Clarke nods and lifts the watch from his fingers as her mother moves in for a hug of her own. Abby’s embrace isn’t as constricting as Jake’s, but it’s no less soothing and her voice sounds just as broken when she speaks, “Sweetheart, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“And your father’s right. You’re strong enough to do this. Don’t let yourself give-up. We’ll be waiting for you to come back home,” Abby whispers into her ear before leaning back to look at her. They stare at each other as if this were their last chance and both of them try not to think about the fact that it very well might be.

“Time’s up.”

A voice booms from the other side of the door. Immediately, the door reopens and three peacekeepers march in. It takes all three of them to force the family apart and drag her parents out of the room.

It’s quiet for another couple minutes, enough to let her mind start spinning with the endless and horrifying possibilities of what’s to come. Clarke puts her father’s watch on her right wrist just as another knock sounds at the door and stranger walks in. 

It’s the dark-haired girl from earlier – the one that she had seen crying when the male tribute’s name had been called. Her confusion at the unexpected appearance allows her anxiety for the games to momentarily make way for a new worry – what could this girl possibly want from her?

“Um, hi.”

“Hi,” The girl answers, shortly. Her eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot; she holds her arms crossed and seems obviously uncomfortable with the situation that she’s placed herself in, “I’m Raven – Finn’s girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Clarke answers, unsure what to say or where this was going.

“I know that it’s kind of weird and tasteless for me to show up like this… and I’m really sorry that this happened to you. Like, your family has done a lot for the people here – your mom doesn’t even ask for payment half the time when she treats people. We’ve never met and you don’t really owe me anything, but I just have to ask…” Raven trails off and takes a steadying breath before looking Clarke straight in the eyes, “if it has to happen - just don’t let it be you. Please. I don’t want someone from his own district to be the one that kills him."

Clarke attempts and fails to swallow the enormous lump that has very suddenly appeared in her throat while Raven has been talking. She wonders if it’s cancerous – maybe she’ll die before she even has to answer this girl. But it’s not and she doesn’t. Raven continues to stare at her levelly, waiting for a reply. 

“I mean, I’ll try- “

“That’s not good enough,” Raven says, eyes suddenly blazing. Her voice is firm, “If the Capitol wants him dead, then the Capitol has to be the one to do it. They want us to turn on each other. Finn loves the people in this district and you live here, so that includes you too. They already have everything – don’t give them this too.”

“Okay,” Clarke croaks after a beat of silence. She frowns and takes a deep breath to repeat herself more steadily, “Okay. If it happens, then it won’t because of me.”

Raven stares at her, searching her eyes. She seems to find what she’s looking for because she smiles slightly and holds out her hand. Her grip is surprisingly strong for having such delicate-looking fingers, and Clarke can feel the many calluses under her palm from long days working in the factories. Clarke likes this girl. She wishes that they had the chance to become friends before today. 

“Good luck, Clarke Griffin. Hold onto yourself in there, if nothing else.”

The door bursts open again. Raven lets her hand slip from Clarke’s fingers and she allows herself to be lead back out. Clarke’s guts feel as if they’ve been twisted into knots.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Maya steps in after Wells and his father have been wrestled out the door – or rather, Wells had been wrestled out the door by his father. Thelonious, ever the diplomat, had retained his cool demeanor during the meeting, but his eyes belayed the sadness stowed so carefully below the surface. Clarke was grateful for it as their visit had been difficult enough for her with Wells’ obvious distress. As much as Clarke felt she should probably be savouring every moment of the waiting time bomb that was her new life, she couldn’t wait for the day to be over so that she could crawl into bed and be alone. She needed some time to deal with her own distress instead of maintaining the collected composure needed to deal with everyone else’s. 

“It’s time, Clarke,” Maya tells her gently, holding the door open for her, “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that this has to happen, but I’ll do my best help you enjoy all the finer things in life before it does and… I know it’s the mentor’s responsibility to garner sponsors for the tributes, but I’ll do my best to help-out in that area too.”

_Because your mentors might not be capable._

Clarke decides not to comment on what Maya’s obviously implying and she’s too consumed with dread to let herself analyze the pretentiousness of the rest of the escort’s words. Clarke loves Theo and Mod, but how in the world was she supposed to win with those two instructing her? The thought plagues her and gets heavier with each step she takes towards the station so that, by the time they finally arrive, she feels as if a rather large elephant has hitched a ride on her shoulders. 

Finn and the morphlings look up at her from where they’re seated on a set of plush couches. The silence is stifling. If there hadn’t been an elephant in the room already, then the one that she’s just brought-in on her shoulders has just made itself at home rather nicely. 

Clarke’s sure that it’s not interested in leaving anytime soon, either.

“Clarke,” Theo says weakly before getting up and walking over to take her hand. He’s shaking more than normal, and she hopes that he hadn’t used more morphling than he was accustomed to because of her. Clarke’s eyes skate over Mod’s form across the room and notes that she appears to be in similar condition. She feels a surge of anguish and she’s not sure if it’s for them or for herself. She hopes that it doesn’t show on her face. Theo continues talking, “We’re going to be in the Cap-Capitol tomorrow. W-we were waiting to show you your rooms. You – sleep. You should try to sleep.”

He lets go of her hand and points towards a door at the end of the hall before walking towards it. Finn and Mod stand to follow him. The other tribute offers her a kind smile as he walks past, but Mod stops in front of her. The victor places a weighty, slightly trembling hand on each shoulder.

“We asked for paints. We’ll get some paints.”

“Oh,” Clarke whispers. Of all the things that Mod could have said to her, that was probably the least expected. She remembered that she had once told the woman how painting had calmed her and allowed her to put things into perspective so that she could focus on the things that mattered. Clarke severely doubts that painting will help her now, but she appreciates the gesture, “Thank you, Mod. That’s kind of you.”

Mod nods and looks at her with soft, sad eyes. She lets go of Clarke only to take her hand and pull her lightly towards the door the others had disappeared through. Despite the fact that her life was probably going to be a short one now, Clarke had a feeling that the next few days were going to be rather long.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She doesn’t sleep well at all on the train. Clarke had spent her whole life falling asleep to the high-pitched squeal of breaks on the railways, the loud rushing sound of hovercraft, and the metallic banging of equipment in the factories. She was used to listening to roar of trains speeding down the tracks from her bed at home, but not to the unobtrusive hum and occasional clack of a train from the inside. Despite having grown-up in a district specializing in transportation, Clarke had never been inside of a train. She hadn’t expected it to be this… quiet.

She falls into a restless sleep well into the early hours of the morning and doesn’t get-up until she hears a light tapping on the door. When she opens it, one of the kitchen crew is there with a loaded tray of food. It all looks delicious, but there isn’t a single thing on the plates that she recognizes. Before disappearing, the server informs her that they will be arriving within the next half hour and informs her that there are several outfits in her closet that she can wear. 

Clarke picks at her plate, forcing herself to eat despite her very real desire not to. She refuses to waste it. There are people in the districts who have never eaten a proper meal in their lives and with the types of people she’s grown-up seeing coming and going from her mother’s clinic, she’s always been away of it. Besides, she’s not sure what the arena is going to be like this year – the food she’s offered in the next few days could be all she gets for a very long time. It’s a pity that she couldn’t sneak any of it in with her.

By the time she’s ready and dressed in the least flamboyant outfit she could find – a pair of tight, black jeans and a low-cute grey three-quarter-sleeve shirt (she’s seriously wondering what the person who stocked her closet was thinking because there is no way that she’d willingly wear a puke-yellow fur vest and leather pants) – the others are all gathered in the same car as yesterday. They’re busy staring out the window as the shining spirals of the Capitol buildings grow larger.  
Finn is the first one to notice her. 

“Hey princess, ready for your close-up?” He points at the massive sea of people that just became visible as they draw nearer to the station. Clarke is just about to snap at him about the nickname, but he continues talking, “It looks like they’re all excited to meet us.”

"Well, that makes one of us.”

“Or more,” He remarks lightly.

“What?”

“There are more than one of them that are excited.”

Clarke almost growls. She does not have the patience this morning to deal with both the enthusiastic Capitol citizens and Finn’s shit – she doesn’t even know him. He seems to take the hint after seeing the look on her face.

“Sorry, I get like that when I’m nervous,” He offers and the hesitant look on his face makes her deflate. They’re all a little on-edge.

“It’s fine. Forget about it.”

The train jerks as the conductor applies the breaks and they come to a halt. Maya motions for them to follow her. Clarke takes a deep breath and takes up the rear behind Finn. She’s almost blinded by the flash from the cameras as soon as they step out onto the platform and the crowd swarms them like wasps. 

The station’s peacekeepers try to make a path for them, but they’ve obviously underestimated the exuberance of the masses. They push-in from every angle, each person vying for a better position to see the new tributes. Clarke gets separated from her party when a tall man in vibrant blue polka dot blazer makes a grab for her arm. She jerks back and moves to get away from him, sending herself careening into the person in front of her. The other person stumbles, but catches Clarke, preventing her from taking a nasty tumble into the concrete. 

Clarke lifts her head and is caught by a pair of startled green eyes. Her saviour is quite possibly the most beautiful woman that she’s ever seen. She seems familiar, but Clarke can’t put her finger on where she would have seen her before. A few strands of long, brunette hair have fallen into the woman’s face during their tussle and Clarke filled with the sudden desire to fix it for her. She opens her mouth to say something – apologize, probably – but the peacekeepers are on her before she gets the chance.

They drag her away from the woman roughly, no longer content with trusting her to make it to the assigned vehicles on her own. They shout at the crowd angrily and finally manage to get them to co-operate enough to allow them to pass. Clarke doesn’t get another chance to look back at the woman until she’s already in the jeep, but by then, the woman is gone.


	5. Lexa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this turned into the longest chapter yet. Some parts of it, I like and others I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it, but hey - it is what it is. I have three more exams left, so I'm still not going to be posting for a while after this... honestly, I'm surprised that I wrote this one. I wrote the end bit a long time ago (I almost didn't put in here). I hope you guys like it. I'm super curious to know what you guys think of this chapter. :)

_The bark of the tree feels rough under her palm. She’s crouched low on the shoulder of a tall tree, hidden from view by the wide, fat leaves of the jungle’s canopy. Lexa leans against the trunk of the tree and frowns as the friction irritates a sore on her side made by a tick that she had removed earlier. She thinks that she managed to pull the entire thing out, but she’s not entirely sure. It was itching something terrible and it was all that she could do not to scratch it and make it worse. If there was one thing that she couldn’t afford right now, it was an infection._

_Lexa attempts to distract herself with the charred rat that she had caught earlier – at least, she thought that it was a rat (it was much larger than any rat that she had ever seen). The meat was greasy and wasn’t overly appetizing, but it was still food and she was immensely proud of herself for having hunted it on her own. She had used the left over ash from the fire to smear black streaks across her eyes and down her cheeks. She had done it for camouflage, but part of her felt as if she were applying war paint. Still high on her successful hunt, she thought that it made her feel braver._

_A branch snaps loudly somewhere in the brush below. She sets her meal aside and cranes her neck to try an catch a glimpse of what was down there. The movement pulls the sweat-soaked material of her shirt across her wound and she bites her lip against the sting. The tall grass shutters violently as the creature pushes its way though it, heading north._

_It sounds big._

_Lexa glances at the remains of her lunch – there wasn’t much left. It was the first thing she’s managed to catch in the two days since the games started. It would be stupid of her to let an animal that large pass her by without at least making an attempt to kill it. She won’t have to worry about food for several days if she manages it.  
She decides to go for it._

_Grabbing her meager possessions – a small knife, metal canister, and a sharpened stick – from where they’re stowed in the branches above her, she climbs down to a nearby thick limb and shuffles along it until she has a clear view of the moving grass. She hefts her make-shift spear over her shoulder and takes aim before letting it fly.  
A chocked-off scream of pain freezes the blood in her veins._

_The figure drops to the jungle floor with a thump. The entire area is filled with the sounds of swishing grass and pained whimpers as they struggle weakly on the ground. It continues for several minutes before it stops. There’s one final low moan and then silence. It’s a long time before she gathers enough bravery to climb down from her perch to investigate._

_She hesitantly parts the underbrush and finds herself faced with the female tribute from District 3. Blank eyes pierce right through her, holding her in place. The long stick that she had painstakingly crafted on her first day protrudes grimly from the girl’s torso. The crack of a canon splits the sky in half and her stomach heaves - she loses her lunch._

_Lexa’s only two days into her Hunger Games when she makes her first kill and it’s a complete accident._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lexa wakes with a start. She’s sweating lightly and she can’t shake the tremors from her hands as she reaches for the glass of water on her bed stand, which she drains greedily. It’s been a long time since she’s dreamt of her own hunger games – half a year, at least. She should have known to expect another now that they’ve returned to the Capitol. Every year she hopes they’ll stop happening, but every year they always come back. 

She hulls herself out of bed once she’s regained her motor control and walks over to the ensuite bathroom. Their tributes had been whisked away by the prep teams the moment that they arrived and have been gone for several hours, thus, leaving the victors with little to do until the chariot rides later that evening. The other tributes had disappeared into the dinning room in search of food, while Lexa opted for a quick nap.

She twists the silver knob of the shower and immediately steps into the spray, not really caring enough to wait for the water to warm-up. It’s freezing and uncomfortable at first, but it helps clear her head. By the time the water reaches an acceptable temperature, Lexa’s managed to shelve her dream in favor of some more pressing matters, such as how she was supposed to keep one of her tributes from dying this year.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Who put you in charge of everything?” Johanna sneers at her when attempts to discuss it with the other victors later.

“All of us,” Anya snaps back, sending Johanna a hard look, “Lexa is the best one for tailoring tactics to individual people.”

“Is she? So then, why am I the only one from our district to make it out of the games alive in the last six years?”

“Because you’re the only one that actually listened to her advice,” Blight interjects calmly, bringing Johanna up short. Lexa had been the one to suggest downplaying her abilities during the games until only a few players remained. Johanna did and she was still alive. Blight kept talking, “There will be no harm in hearing her out a second time. You’re a mentor now. It’s your job to consider all options.”

Johanna still looks unhappy, but she stops protesting. Lexa waits for a moment before continuing, “I’d like Tris and Artigas to pair-up and perhaps form an alliance with some of the other tributes. The career pack won’t take them and I wouldn’t expect them to survive long with them even if the did, but it might be worthwhile for them to team-up temporarily with some of the other tributes from the outlying districts. If they can use them to help eliminate the tributes from the career districts, then one of them might have a shot at making it out of this.” 

“How can they be sure that these tributes won’t just try to kill them once they let their guards down?” Johanna pipes up again, “They can’t trust them.” 

“They can’t, but they don’t need their trust – they just need their cooperation long enough to eliminate the biggest threat in the arena,” Lexa says, watching them mull it over. 

“It has been tried before,” Anya says after a long moment, “It doesn’t happen often with those not from a career district, but it is not a revolutionary idea. It happens from time to time, but most do not have the discipline to see the alliance to fruition.”

“No, but neither of them have the skills to make it very far on strength alone,” Lexa sighs and reaches to fill her glass with some sort of clear liquid that definitely did not smell like water. She takes a small sip that burns going down, “I spoke to both of them about their prior experiences – none of them have the same amount of experience that we had in the forest. Artigas worked in the mill’s office and Tris in her father’s furniture shop. Their best gifts are their minds. They should be encouraged to use them.

Tomorrow will be their first day in the training center. I’d like for them to watch and scout for potential allies. They should watch only and then report back to us. On the second day, we have them approach the ones that seem suitable,” Lexa finishes, absent mindedly swirling the alcohol in her cup. She’s never really been one for drinking – a bit here and there, when the occasion called for it, but nothing more. While a lot of the other victors turn to alcohol to help them forget, Lexa simply finds that it leaves her feeling out of control. She’s had to work hard to maintain the meager amount of control that she has over her life (the Capitol having done its very best to rob her of most of it) and she’s loath to give it up for a few hours of peace and a bad hangover – tempting though it may be at times. Also, she’s just never been able to shake the need for hyper-vigilance since her games.

She can’t defend herself if she’s wasted. 

“We will bring-up the idea with them later after the tribute parades,” Blight says, nodding approvingly, “In the end though, it will be up to them. If they are uncomfortable with it, then we’ll have to think of something else.”

That’s fair – frustrating as anything, but fair. In the end, most of the plans that they come up with in this room need to be scrapped anyway. Lexa’s almost lost count of the number of times that she’s told her tributes not to participate in the bloodbath – to run in the opposite direction. She tells them that they can watch, hidden in a tree until it’s over and they can loot the cornucopia while the career pack is away. It’s what she did, she tells them, and they nod their heads like they hear her; however, more often than not, the cornucopia still pulls them in like a siren and they’re dead before the first hour is done. Plans don’t always work. This year, all she’s really hoping for is that common sense does.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They take to the plan better than expected. 

She and the other victors sat them down after the had wandered into the loft dressed like escaped props from a stage production of Little Red Riding Hood. They were trees – again. Unobtrusive, bland trees. When you are but one tree in a forest, you don’t stand out and Lexa predicts another difficult year trying to gain the favor of sponsors.

Artigas and Tris seem like the plan. They nod at the appropriate moments and seem to be paying attention. Lexa’s still not convinced that they’ll follow through with it once all hell breaks loose in arena, but for now she knows that they’ve committed themselves to the idea. They return from their first day of training with a detailed mental list of the tributes that they’d like to invite into their alliance. On the list are the tributes from District 11, Charlotte and Myles, as well as the tributes from District 6, Finn Collins and Clarke Griffin. Lexa ignores the fluttery feeling in her stomach when Tris mentions the blonde girl’s name. It’s ridiculous and stupid to let herself feel attraction towards a girl that she’s never really met and who’s going to die in the next few days anyway.

While the others are eating breakfast, Lexa decides to make a trip downstairs to watch the other tributes as they arrive early to train. Strictly speaking, she’s not supposed to be down there, but she also knows that the center coordinator – the only person in the center that she could not intimidate enough to let her stay - is not a morning person and there has not been a single training day in the last six years that the woman did not show-up at least ten minutes late. You can learn a lot in ten minutes. The elevator only descends one floor before it pulls-up short and opens its doors. 

Clarke hesitates for a moment before joining her in the empty elevator. The tension in the small space begins to build immediately as the doors seal shut. It’s uncomfortable. 

“You’re Lexa Woods – from Seven,” Clarke says quietly when the silence gets too much, “Maya told me after the train station. I’m sorry that I ran into you like that. The crowd-”

“-Is very eager. It’s alright,” Lexa answers, cutting the girl off. She watches as Clarke’s face twists into a slight frown – it’s only present for a brief moment before the girl smothers it and schools her face into an imperceptible mask. Lexa knows that she’s effectively ended the conversation and she should just leave it be, but she’s opening her mouth before she can stop herself, “You conducted yourself very well at the reaping.”

“Oh, thank you,” Clarke responses, casting a curious look sideways as if she were confused at the sudden change in attitude.  
  
“My tributes have been watching you,” Lexa says after a beat and notices that Clarke tenses immediately. She perhaps could have lead them into this a bit easier, but there is only so much time before the elevator reaches the bottom. She presses on, “We would like to make you an offer – to you and your fellow tribute.”

“An offer of what?”

“An alliance,” Lexa says shortly. The corners of Clarke’s lips twitch downwards into a frown again, “Artigas and Tris can help you beat the career districts. I would have them team-up with you and the two from District 11.”

“Why me?”

“As I said before, you conducted yourself well,” Lexa turns to face Clarke fully, her voice cool, “Make no mistake Clarke, we do not trust you, but you seem like you would be capable of keeping your head until the task is complete.”

“And when the careers are dead?” 

“Then the alliance is over and the six of you are free to kill each other at will.”

Clarke’s eyes are sharp and calculating. She watches Lexa with an intensity that is uncomfortable and she’s almost ashamed at how grateful she is when the elevator dings and the door hiss open. Clarke takes a step forward, stopping and glancing over her shoulder when she realizes that Lexa hasn’t made a move to follow her.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Are you going to give me an answer?”

“Do you need one now?”

“Now would be preferable. I do not know when we will cross paths again.” 

“…fine,” Clarke answers, finally. They’re still standing in the doorway of the elevator as Clarke almost awkwardly extends her hand, “Do we shake on this, or…”

Lexa says nothing as she reaches forward to take the girl’s hand in her own and she tries not to think about how soft Clarke’s skin is or how nicely her hand fits into Lexa’s own. Clarke tightens her grip on Lexa’s hand as the victor moves to release her, “Lexa, if they betray me prematurely…”

She trails off ominously, and Lexa lifts her head defiantly, jerking her head in a curt nod, “This is war, Clarke. People die. It is what it is.”

If she’s certain of anything, it’s that Clarke Griffin is dangerous. Allowing her tributes to form an alliance with this girl is a serious risk and it’s one that could either make them or break them. Lexa told the others that their tributes need to use their intellects in order to win this – she just hopes that she’s doing the same. 

Because at the end of the day, even if they win, they can still lose.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_  
Lexa bites her lip as she fingers the latch on the canister, rolling an idea around inside her head and trying to get a grip on how she feels about it. It’s sinister, really – the plan. Lexa actually hates it, but it’s also her best shot at taking out part of the remaining careers. The pack has split into factions – two groups of three people each – now that there were fewer people left in the games. One of the groups was weakened by dysentery (she wasn’t too worried about her chances with them right now), but the other group was as fit as ever and contained both the tributes from District 1, as well as the female tribute from district 4. All three of them were twice her size and skilled in combat. Although this plan went against every inch of her moral fiber, she stood no chance of taking them head-on. She examined the size of the interior of the case._

_She had to do it._

_She carefully folds the parachute and tucks the fabric into the pocket of her pants before securing the canister under her arm and shimmying down the tree to the forest floor. Lexa breaks-off a sturdy-looking branch with a forked end and begins her hunt. She uses the long, un-forked end of the branch to move the arms of several bushes from a safe distance. It only takes her about an hour to find what she’s looking for._

_The dark eyes of the viper stare at her from sunny patch by the creek bed._

_The snake is light-brown in colour with grey, occipital blotches covering most of it’s body. Slowly, she maneuvers the forked end of the branch into striking position. She’ll have to be quick if she has any hope of preventing this whole thing from back-firing._

_Lexa lunges._

_For one heart-stopping moment, she thinks that she’s going to miss. The snake lets out a furious hiss as she pins it to the rock by the back of the neck. She moves as quickly as she dares without letting up pressure on the branch. With one hand, she lays the canister open on the ground in front of her before reaching forward to grab the snake firmly just behind it’s broad, flattened head. The viper’s long body twists around her forearm as she lifts it and places it inside the canister, replacing her hand with the forked branch once she has it in place. Lexa stuffs the rest of the snake’s body inside the container, retracting the stick once it’s almost shut. The latch clicks as she seals it inside._

_She instantly feels bad for the animal and checks the bottom of the canister’s casing to ensure that the loosened bolts of the hinges leave enough space for the snake to get air. When she’s sure that the creature won’t suffocate, she moves on to the next part of her plan – finding the careers. It takes her the remainder of the afternoon to locate them. They had set-up camp on a clear patch of ground down by a river and were busy roasting some unidentifiable animal on a spigot over the fire._

_Lexa scans the canopy for a suitable tree. She finds what she’s looking for in a tall, leafy kapok tree. There’s enough cover around the trunk by the surrounding canopy that she can scale the barren trunk to reach the verdant top without worry of being spotted. When she’s situated at the highest point that she can safely reach, she fishes the folded parachute from her pocket and re-attaches it to the canister. Lexa pops the panel on the side and fiddles with the wiring until the light dinging sound of an incoming sponsor gift fills the air. She replaces the panel and releases her honey trap into the still air._

_All three careers snap to attention when the parachute floats into hearing range. The two tributes from District 1 practically trip themselves as they scramble to reach the canister first. They bicker for a moment, both hovering before the female tribute flicks the switch. The viper, agitated by it’s confinement, strikes immediately._

_The tiny camp erupts into chaos._

_The snake sinks its fangs into the skin of the girl’s wrist. She screams, flinging the canister and jerking the arm that the viper has attached itself to. The force of the movement causes the snake let go, sailing into the chest of the other tribute as he looks on frozen with stunned horror. The animal thumps harmlessly against his chest, but strikes at his right leg as it hits the ground. The boy howls, kicking his leg and sending the snake flying into the underbrush across the clearing._

_Lexa doesn’t stay to watch after that, shimmying down the tree as fast as she dares. She’s mindful of the fact that her position may have been compromised to anyone that may have been paying attention to the direction that the gift came from. An unsettlingly feeling creeps into her gut that has nothing to do with the guilt she feels for the trap. She stops when she reaches the lower branches, peering into the undergrowth. It’s only about a minute before she spots her._

_Having apparently abandoned her former allies to their fates, the female tribute from District 4 bounds through the bush like a hound after a fox. The girl isn’t overly quiet about it, more interested in finding Lexa than keeping herself hidden. Lexa wonders if they even teach them about stealth in their murder schools or if this girl just didn’t listen. She could take her out easily if she still had her spear. Lexa glances between the small hunting knife secured to her thigh and the two slim swords strapped to the other tribute’s back - it wouldn’t be much of a fight, really._

_She’s resigned herself to remain hidden in the tree when the opportunity presents itself._

_The girl stops directly below her, eyes trained on the canopy opposite Lexa. From where the tribute is standing, she will have a clear view of Lexa the moment that she – inevitably – turns around. Lexa weights her options quickly: either she surprises the girl or she waits until the girl discovers her. If she discovers her, then it’s over. Lexa choses the former._

_The older tribute screeches in surprise when Lexa throws herself from the tree onto the girl’s back. She thrashes back and forth, trying to get a grip on her captor, but Lexa has her in a choke-hold with her right arm and her legs are wrapped firmly around the girl’s middle. She stabs the tribute in the neck with her knife and they the both drop like a sac of grain._

_Lexa’s shaking violently as she forces herself up and off of the now very still tribute. She takes a step back and drops the knife. She lifts her hands to watch the tremors in her red-stained hands and it’s several minutes before she can get them to stop again. Once she manages it, she moves to leave. She hesitates for a moment before bending down to remove the dead girl’s swords. She’s careful not to look at the tribute’s face as she does so, but the image is burned into the back of her eyelids anyway._

_Victory stands on the back of sacrifice, Anya had told her when she had seen her off, but what her mentor had not mentioned was that the sacrifice would entail more than just the death of 23 tributes. It would cost her a piece of her own humanity – that, and her entire reason for volunteering for these games in the first place._

_At the end of this day, Lexa kills four: the two tributes from District 1, the female tribute from District 4, and… Costia. As it turns out, sometimes you should look a gift-horse in the mouth because sometimes it’s not a horse at all – but a snake instead. Lexa learns the hard way that the Capitol does not take kindly to those that exploit their supposedly perfect system and – intentional or not – threaten to unmask them to the whole._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that happened. I almost feel like the snake plan was more of a Clarke thing to do (Lexa's more of a direct confrontation sort of person), but Lexa's twelve and I don't really see her making it out alive without pulling a few things like this - even if she finds it distasteful.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from my favourite Shins song, “No Way Down,” because James Mercer is a such brilliant lyricist that I can feel this song marrow-deep in my bones. It speaks of liberal guilt and economic imbalance in a way that I think fits with the tone in Panam fairly well.  
>  __  
> “Dig yourself a beautiful grave  
>  Everything you could want  
> Maybe those invisible slaves  
> Are too far away for a ghost to haunt”
> 
> Also, please let me know in the comments if you like this and want me to keep going. I'm pretty busy with university and I have ADD, so I'll need the reminder/inspiration. I'll do my best though! This is the best fandom that I've ever been in, so I think the chances are pretty good that I'll finish it. Feel free to come say hi on my tumblr (enzcat.tumblr.com), but be warned that it might take me a day or two to get back to you.


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